


Cinquecento

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Bones are on honeymoon in Italy. They hire a car – it’s not what they expected! Mild crackiness ensues. It's a rom-com with gropage!<br/><b>warnings</b> bad accents, fattening food and Italian stereotypes.</p><p><b>intriguing snippet</b>: <i>“Jim. This isn’t a car – it’s fuckin’ <i>shoe</i>,” Bone hisses, “How’re we gonna fit all our stuff in there? How the hell are <i>we</i> gonna fit in there?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinquecento

**Author's Note:**

> A comment fic, in celebration of 500 members on jim_and_bones plus my (then) one year anniversary _to the day_ of posting my first piece of fic for this fandom!
> 
> thanks to awarrington for beta reading!

Jim glances over his shoulder at Bones who stands by their luggage, arms folded, chewing his lips. Fuck, he looks really pissed. And hot – in those shades, like a hit man or something.

“Signore, I sorry.”

Jim turns to the car-rental guy and closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath. He needs to keep his cool, otherwise their honeymoon’s going belly up before it even starts. “Should I wait, in case the one we _pre-booked_ comes in?”

The guy shrugs. They’ve been in Italy half an hour and Jim’s lost count of the shrugs already, the whole ‘whatch-gonna-do’ attitude amusing the hell out of him. “Signore, we have beautiful car just for you. I call my brother. When he hear is Capitano Kirk, he run!”

“Well, you don’t have to make special—“

“Yeah, he does Jim.” Bones is right behind him, looking at the PADD the car rental guy’s peering at. “Call him. Please. Before we melt into the tarmac. I need to get into an air-conditioned car _now_ , Jim, just take it! We don’t need the monster you ordered.”

The rental guy peers over his shades at Bones, pulls out his comm. “ _Antonio, porta la macchina adesso. Si – per Capitano Kirk._ ”

They can both hear a tirade of Italian down the line. The guy shrugs, holds the comm away form his ear, “He sleeping—“ he explains, pressing the comm to his ear again. Jim hasn’t learned Italian, but it’s close enough to Spanish he can pick up words like ‘cuckold’ and he doesn’t need to be a linguist to work out what _bastardo_ means.

“It’s siesta, Bones, we’re lucky this place is even open!” Jim says.

“Lucky? It’s at a shuttle-port, how can they close?” Bones snorts.

“We sleep because we need to digest food,” car hire guy says a little sullenly “Also, because of inconvenience, my sister-in-law packs picnic for you. Is good, you will see. Italian food is the best.”

“We have amazing cuisine in Georgia, “Bones mutters.

“Bones, don’t get into this now, you won’t win an argument with this guy,” Jim hisses. Yeah, like that always works, recommending Bones _shouldn’t_ do something. Jim goes and sits by the bags and checks his comm. They’ve waited twenty minutes. He digs out a hat and pulls it firmly over his face. He hears snippets of the conversation between Bones and car hire guy, who’s called Mariano, ‘after my grandmother on my Papa’s side,’ he tells Bones. He hears, “She beautiful!” Yeah, Bones must’ve shown Mariano a picture of Jo-Jo, ‘like her Papa,’ – what the hell, is the guy flirting with his _husband_.

“Pulled pork, yeah, see – this is a good recipe. With peaches.”

“What is ‘peaches’?”

They look it up on the PADD. “How’dya say that in Italian, Mariano?”

Mariano gaffuws, “ _Never_ say that word in Italia. Is dangerous!”

“How can a piece of fruit be dangerous?” Jim calls over, feeling a little left out.

“You’ve never worked in an ER, Jim,” Bones chuckles, “I’ve had to extract, among other things a large cuc—“

“But what about the peaches?” Jim says.

Mariano leans over and whispers into Bones ear and Jim feels a stab of jealousy when Bones slaps the guy on the arm and roars with laughter. _He’s_ the one who makes Bones laugh. He stands up, walks over and grabs Bones by the elbow. “Come on, _Mariano_ has work to do!”

“Is true!” Mariano shrugs, flipping on the vid screen to the soccer.

+++

One hour later, Mariano’s brother, Antonio pulls up.

“Jim. This isn’t a car – it’s a fuckin’ _shoe_ ,” Bones hisses. “How’re we gonna fit all our stuff in there? How the hell are _we_ gonna fit in there?”

Jim’s bouncing round the Fiat 500 like he’s just got the best birthday gift ever.

“Bones, _Bones_ it’s a _cinquecento_! I’ve never seen one out of a museum before – look at it, it’s fucking perfect!” And he opens the door, “Oh my God, look at the dash – it has a _speedometer_ and look, a shift and a hand-brake!”

“Please don’t tell me it’s powered by some foul-smelling fuel, or cow-shit or something!”

“Don’t be stupid, it’s all updated – it just _looks_ really cool.” Jim begins throwing their bags into the car and Bones watches in alarm when the back end sags under the weight.

“How’s it gonna lift up?” Bones wants to know.

“Lift up? No, this one runs on the road – it’ll be great, come on – get in!”

[](http://photobucket.com)

+++

“Can we have our picnic now, Jim, please?”

Jim’s grinning ear to ear, one elbow out of the open window – so much for air-con, “Sure, grab the basket off the back seat!”

“Aren’t we going to stop? My back’s killing me – darned tires, haven’t these Italians heard of suspension?” They go over a bump in the road and Bones braces his hands against the ceiling to stop his head from thumping against it again. His legs are spread wide, his knees practically under his chin but he’s transfixed by the view out of the window. Stone buildings dotting the sun-bleached landscape, a hazy blue sky, vineyards stretching to the horizon, tobacco plantations and melon fields.

“Don’t wanna just yet, Bones, is that okay? This is so much fun!”

“Yeah, okay—“

Bones twists in the confined space and rummages through the basket, there’s a bunch of palest green Moscato grapes on top and he lifts them out. They smell amazing, rich and sweet and he pops one into his mouth. “Holy shit- try one!” He pulls another grape from the stalk, leans over and pops it in Jim’s mouth, watches goggle-eyed as Jim rolls it around his lips, bites down and a little bit of juice trickles on his lower lip. He chases it with his tongue.

“Mmmm, more,” Jim says.

Bones obliges, feeding him one grape after another, “one for you, one for me,” Until there’s just the stalk left.

“I enjoyed that,” Bones finally says, “specially the way you worked that pretty mouth of yours—“ He rests his hand on Jim’s thigh, just where his shorts have ridden up a little, wriggles his thumb under to touch the hot, sweat soaked skin.

Jim’s eyes flicker towards him for a second, back to the road and then he swerves, hard left, ignoring Bones’ complaints when he almost bumps his head. Jim encourages the little car up a dirt track, kicking up shit all around them and finally pulls up under some trees. Jim tells the computer to power down and pulls the brake. Bones can hear Jim breathing, water running close by, crickets, cow-bells and the car cooling around them.

“I’m still hungry,” Bones says a little petulant.

Jim leans across Bones’ body and then, with his hand tucked out of sight, he pulls a lever which has Bones seat flatten back into an almost horizontal position, head back, feet flying upwards, as Bones lets out an “oof!”

“Did you just break something?” Bones says, cricking his neck and then grabbing Jim’s t-shirt to pull him close. Jim’s climbing half on top of him, bumping his ass on the steering wheel as he tries to wriggle out of his shorts, his other hand trapped between them until Bones takes pity on him and lifts his ass so Jim can tug down his cargo pants.

“Didn’t break anything, it’s all part of the design,” Jim huffs into Bones’ neck. “You know the Italians and the whole making out in cars tradition…”

“Nope,” Bones says, wrapping a fist around Jim’s cock and knocking his calf against the hand-brake. He wriggles his leg, and arches into Jim’s hand, “but I’m thinking of going native, what with this and them all being so pleasant—“ Jim stops tugging at Bones’ cock, “-what?”

“I didn’t like you flirting with that Mariano guy…” Jim says.

“Hey, I wasn’t flirting.” Jim’s looking down at him through thick lashes, and maybe he’s pouting just a little, “ ‘sides, you flirt all the damned time…”

“Yeah but—“ and Bones shuts him up with a brutal kiss, just to pay him back for making him slum it in this stupid car.

+++

They’re both leaning on the hood, Jim slicing pieces of salami with the knife from the picnic basket, feeding them to Bones one at a time while Bones trails his hand down Jim’s wrist each time it comes close to his mouth. They eat stuffed olives, and hours-old plaits of mozzarella. Bones drinks wine while Jim makes do with salty, ice cold mineral water since he’s driving, though he does enjoy the taste of the Montepuliciano on Bones’ tongue every chance he gets.

“We’re being watched,” Bones says.

“Dammit, I came here for some privacy, to get away from—“ and Jim laughs and laughs, slaps Bones on the arm, when they see their new friend,  a Gentile .

“Looks like Chekov!” Jim says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, shoving the basket aside with his foot then flipping Bones onto his belly so he’s splayed face down across the hood. “Where did you put that olive oil? It worked like a dream last time.“

+++

 

“What did he say about the peaches?” Jim wants to know.

They’re in their _pensione_ , where the air-con is broken, just like in the car which they’ve christened, Olivia, since they’ve become so fond of the local oil already. Jim’s naked, lying on his back on their tiny bed, Bones standing at the balcony in his boxers sipping replicated espresso. Least something works.

“It was funnier when Mariano told it but something to do with the word for peach, _pesca_ can be easily mispronounced – best case scenario you’re saying ‘fishing’—“

“Worst case?”

“Vagina!”

“Fuck,” Jim chuckles, “I’d have thought they’d have a richer vocabulary — wonder how many words they have for ‘cock’—“

“Well, from what Mariano tells me, they’d give the Orions a run for their credits. Ouch!”

And Bones throws the pillow right back at Jim, following through with a very smooth dive onto the bed.

+++

“How the fuck are we supposed to get the car out? “ Bones grumbles.

Jim shrugs. Three days and he’s already started wearing his shades indoors, holding his comm in his hand at all times (except when he’s driving and fucking) and now with the shrugging.

“Here, it’s easy, I’ve done my research.”

Jim beckons to two men from the circle of bystanders who have gathered to watch the drivers of the hover cars arguing. They’ve had a light collision, and the vehicles have landed up against the parked cars, trapping Olivia against the kerb so they can’t leave.

“ _Qui, qui_ , “ Jim says, pointing at the front and back of their car. Bones can’t help but be impressed how in any language his husband always has that command presence. The two guys don’t need any further explanation. One bends to grab the front, another the rear and Jim opens the doors so he and Bones can get a hold of the sides and they lift, then walk the car round the wrecks, round the shouting drivers standing nose to nose, waving their hands and oblivious to their actions, until they can set Olivia down, pointing south, ready to go.

“Shit, Jim,” Bones pants, wiping his hands on his jeans, “this fucking car’s something else. D’ya think we can smuggle her back on the ship?”

Jim kisses him on the cheek. “Told you, Bones, best car ever! We just need to get a ruck-sack big enough and we’ll do it!”

END


End file.
